And Make Them Love Me
by Dark Ride
Summary: Sansa is the leader of the North but her path is full of stumbles. Luckily for her, someone is there to help her keep to right path. Post-series, Sandor/Sansa friendship.


This one was written for LJ community got_exchange 5th round of fic/art exchange. barelyshocking (Lascia) prompted: _Mistress of Winterfell, Sansa starts to get a little too high and mighty. Sandor tries to bring her back down to earth... written in a serious, non-fluff way._

Some mentions of canon-typical misogyny and values dissonance.

As usual, I don't own ASOIAF. Because let's face it, with my tempo of updates, readers would be lucky if I had finished writing A Storm of Swords by now.

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"I understand your concerns, Lady Karstark, Lord Umber," Sansa repeated for what must have been the tenth time in an hour. "You made them known, time and again, but the answer remains the same. The Wildlings as a whole are not the problem. The series of raids you brought to my attention is by all signs carried out by one group which clearly consists of renegades refusing to accept the treaty Lord Commander Snow made with the Wildling leaders. I cannot, in good faith, call the banners for the sake of destroying one group of brigands."

Sansa gazed around the table at her gathered bannermen. There were but a few of them, all those with lands close to or bordering on the stripe of land known as Gift, all of them being bothered by the Wildling raids and all of them wanting ehr to do something about it. They were her people now, her responsibility and she wanted to do well by them but they made it so difficult.

Alys Karstark at least held some sympathy towards Sansa, the young woman only a scant few years older than her. It was Jon Umber who called for the battle the loudest. Sansa tried to understand that he was a man who had lost too much to the War but striking out at something else would not help.

"We have been here a long time, my lords and ladies," Sansa spoke at last when only sullen silence came forth from the others. "There is a supper being prepared. Why don't we reconvene afterwards, rested and fed and try and discuss the solutions to this situation?"

"Discuss, she says," Lord Umber snorted, his booming voice carrying throughout the whole Great Hall. "Are you a Stark, girl, or not? Has your stay in the south made you forget your blood? No true Stark would sit on their arse and discuss things when their people were in danger."

Sansa felt all blood leave her face and she gripped the armrests of her chair firmly to anchor herself. Rash and angered or not, Lord Umber had hit a sensitive spot. She had had doubts about taking the position of the Lady of Winterfell and Warden of the North but as there had been no one else, she had stepped up. She had had her hands full ever since, trying to see her people through the rest of the Winter, to bargain with the other kingdoms for food and safety, to forge anew the old alliances and create new ones. She had been awake for sixteen to eighteen hours a day, reading reports, making decisions that could keep the North alive and well and half of the time she felt like she was failing. She did not want or need other people's doubts to add to her own. The bannermen had sworn their fealty to her. The least they could do was trust that she had their best interests in mind.

"I would be much obliged, Lord Umber," Sansa herself was startled to hear the quiet and menacing tone in her voice, "if you would keep your comments and opinions to yourself. I am Sansa Stark of Winterfell, the Warden of the North by the word of Aegon Targaryen, the sixth of his name and King of the Seven Kingdoms. I was born a Stark, I have lived as a Stark and now I rule the North as a Stark. I am your liege lady, you swore me your fealty, your obedience. If I say we will discuss matters, we shall. If I say we will fight, we shall. But that decision will be ultimately mine because that is my right and duty. You have no right to judge me unworthy of my name and if you try again, I won't hesitate to have you tried for treason. Do you understand, Lord Umber?"

By the end of her speech, Sansa was almost shouting. Pushing her chair away, she stood up and marched out of the room, her breathing hard and her eyes stinging. She raised her skirts to her ankles, not caring for the propriety, only wishing to get as far away from the people who had just witnessed her outburst as possible.

She found herself in the godswood in the end, the tall and old trees usualy a soothing influence in her turmoil but not this time. She paced around the hot springs, the warmth doing nothing to calm her. He had had no right, she raged silently, letting her tears fall freely. The treaty with the Wildlings was important, how could they not understand that? The North had lost so many people in the War and the Winter kept taking from them. They couldn't afford a conflict with the Wildlings, not when the best of Sansa's efforts barely kept the people fed and relatively safe.

All that times when she had imagined herself a ruler, be it a Queen or a Lady, she had never thought it to be so hard. She had not thought her own people would seek to undermine her when all she had done was to care for them. She did not wish to rule with fear but what if she would have no choice but to make people fear her in order to respect her?

"My lady?" the low voice made her straighten up and wipe her eyes. She turned around and saw Sandor Clegane standing a respectful distance away, holding her cloak. "It's cold outside, even here."

"Thank you," she said quietly and he walked up to her, draping the cloak around her shoulders. She pulled it tighter around herself and turned away, staring at the heart tree. "Have they all left?"

"No," he said after a moment. "They are eating the dinner. Rickon presides, he's old enough now."

"They would prefer him even older," Sansa said bitterly. "They would want him to rule instead of me."

"They swore their allegiance to you," Sandor reminded her and Sansa whirled around angrily.

"Because they had no choice. Jon refused to leave the Night Watch and Bran wanted to improve his abilities. Arya is still gone and Rickon is too young and wild. I was the only Stark left and they find me lacking. You heard them. They hate me!"

"Now you're being foolish," Sandor told her. "Lord Umber is a desperate man with a terrible temper but he's loyal. All he wants is to protect his people."

"And you think I do not want the same?" she interrupted him, pacing again. "If the Winter lasts for longer than fifteen months from now, we will run out of food. I have already indebted us to get our current supplies. The only thing left to bargain with is myself and I have already been married once and betrothed more times than I cared for," the bitterness seeped into her tone again. "A bride price for my hand will not be high, not with Rickon clearly in line of succession and me being used goods."

"That is not true," he rasped and Sansa was almost glad to see his anger. His stay on the Quiet Isle had soothed his rage in such a profound way she sometimes found it hard to recognize him as the same man she had known and feared and trusted in King's Landing. It was a good change, for sure, but it was also good to be reminded that that ferocious nature was not entirely gone.

"Few care for the truth if it means they can get what they want at little to no price," she replied at last. "I failed, Sandor. I tried so hard to be a good leader, to care for my people and have them love me but all I seem able to do is argue with my bannermen."

"Is that what you want? Their love? Their praise?"

Sansa was startled by his harsh tone and she frowned.

"Of course I do. I swore to myself, a long time ago, that when I would become a ruler, my people would love me."

"Foolish girl," Sandor sneered. Sansa opened her mouth to argue but he tipped her chin up until their eyes met. "Of course you failed them if that's the way you think."

"What do you mean?"

"As long as you care more about how your people see you instead of the people themselves, you will keep failing them. Your argument with Jon Umber wasn't about the Wildlings attacking villages north of the Wolfswood. It was about his perception of you."

"No," Sansa whispered but there was little conviction in her denial.

"Oh yes, little bird. You want them love you but that mustn't be your only reason to try to rule them well. It shouldn't matter to you if they love you or hate you as long as they are taken care of. If you cannot do that, then you will truly fail."

He let go of her chin and Sansa gladly stepped away. His words were harsh, almost cruel but they rang with truth. Sandor didn't lie, not to her. That was why she valued him so much as a friend and protector.

"I would like some time alone to think," she said quietly, not quite a demand.

"I'll wait for you outside the gates."

"Sandor?" she called out tentatively and he turned around. "Thank you, for your honesty. It is appreciated."

He smiled a little at that.

"You are welcome, Sansa."

He left her standing in the godswood, alone with her thoughts and a fragile hope blooming in her heart.


End file.
